Cryptic Depths
by SMS13
Summary: Sequel to Winding Roads Broken by Lies. Fate brings two lives together. Chapter Ten up, Carter and Abby finally talk.
1. Fate

Author's Notes: Okay this is the sequel. Read and Review. I don't know what else to say. And the information in here is quite accurate since I looked it up.   
  
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He walked into the poverty-stricken village, the people looking at him like he was an alien. The children ran and hid from him, the parents protectively holding their babies. They weren't used to strangers, and it seemed like they resented his presence there. He was an outsider, an invader. He knew he would never understand what life truly was like for them. How much they struggled every day to get food for their children, or even clean water to drink. He knew they would never like him. He was from America, the country with the streets paved with gold. It was so far from the truth. The looks he kept on receiving were ones of warning. The people needed him, but they didn't want him. It was a mixed emotion. They were protective, a tightly knit community. He didn't want to make enemies. He only came to help.   
  
He didn't know why decided to go on another mission trip. The Congo had given him a sense of belonging; maybe this place would, too. He needed to get away from the complicated situation back in the states. Everything seemed to be falling apart and falling into place at the same time. He had a good position at County. He was Chief of Emergency Medicine at one of the best trauma centers in the country. He worked with people he loved, doing what he loved to do. Yet, he wished there was more he could do. There were so many people beyond Chicago that needed medical help or attention. He wanted to help those people, the ones that couldn't afford it.   
  
He looked at the guide next to him, a middle-aged man, thin and tired looking. He knew he would end up looking like him when he left. He carried supplies under his hand; the white tent with the Doctors Without Borders logo came into view in the distance. The lines of people where curling around the makeshift hospital. These people, on the contrary, were looking at his as if he was god. The man next to him said nothing, even though they shared a common tongue. Most of the people understood a broken English, but he would quickly catch onto the other three languages spoken here. He never imagined he would end up in Sierra Leone. One of the world's most impoverished countries.  
  
He followed the white-haired man up the stairs, his steps slow and forced. They walked in, and immediately the coughing patients grabbed his attention. The smell of disease and death was heavy in the air. The patients ranged in age from premature babies to older men and women. The age expectancy was only about 45 years. Most of the people here looked double that. He knew they were young, but the harsh realities of life had set in, destroying them. He followed the man toward the end of the hallway.  
  
He saw a thin woman leaning over a little boy. He looked to be about seven years old. He looked dehydrated and malnourished, but that seemed to the norm there. He noticed the boy wasn't breathing. He saw the woman let the boy's hand go then she curled up; her hands held her head toward her lap. He had probably been a patient of hers. That was the one rule of these mission trips: try not to get emotionally involved. The man walked over to her, placing a hand on her shoulder, whispering an "I'm sorry." She nods her head starting to get up.  
  
Her hair was a dirty blonde, her roots showing. She had been here for a while, a long while. It was up in a messy ponytail. She didn't need to care about how she looked. She was in a tank-top, sweat dripping down her back. Her jeans were rolled up into makeshift capris. Her sneakers where dirty and falling apart. She had definitely been here a while. She had a dark tan from the hours she had probably spent outside, helping both the sick and the healthy keep their village running. He could see the exhaustion and malnutrition on her body; she was so thin. He could only imagine what her face looked like. He watched her reverently cover the boy's body, wiping a few tears from her eyes.  
  
Her body shook but she pulled herself back together, looking up at the man. He saw a glimpse of her face, dark circles under her eyes. She was pale, even though her skin was a dark brown. The man handed her the containers of drugs that he had been carrying. She took them, heading toward the tiny refrigerator in the corner. It was probably run on solar power; the village had no electricity. He watched her carefully unpack the life saving drugs, mentally inventorying who would get what. She pulled out two bottles and took two needles out of a container on the counter. She walked over to a girl lying in the darkest corner of the room.   
  
He watched her act with the child. She was sympathetic, taking the girls hand into her own, pushing pack her hair. He couldn't hear the conversation, but he knew she was taking to her. He saw a small smile form on the girl's lips, and she mouthed thank you to the woman. He was strangely mesmerized by her. She walked back to the counter and threw the needle into a different container. He saw her hesitate for a minute, clearing her mind, holding on the counter for support. She pushed back her bangs. She looked like she was mentally dying. He could almost feel her pain.   
  
He looked around the room. It held no privacy, no utilities, nothing. Medicine at its most primitive phase. He knew most of the patients would die. It was a fact of life. HIV/Aids infected seven percent of the population here, and that statistic was growing by the week. The temperature made sweat run down his temple, he wiped it away. He hadn't been anywhere without air conditioning in such a long while. The temperatures were incredibly high during the summer months. He hadn't noticed that the woman had come back to join them. He was finally close enough to look at her in detail.  
  
He looked at her face, the face that had seen the worst of the world and survived through it. She started to cough, holding on to her stomach. He walked closer to her, and he pressed on her neck, hoping to elevate some of the pain she felt when she coughed. She was giving up her own health to take care of the living dead. She started to breathe normally once again, and he grabbed a chair from a few meters away and placed it by her. She sat down, and looked up at him. Her eyes seemed so hollow, so empty, yet familiar. He locked his eyes onto her dark brown ones. For a minute the world disappeared. He saw the tears pooling in them, but she quickly closed them. She got off the stool, running toward the door, going out into the pouring rain.   
  
It had been four painful years. 


	2. Respect

Author's Notes: Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed the first chapter! I got a few reviews and they were all positive so I decided to keep going. So after you read, please review. It means so much to me.   
  
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He starred at the rustic screen door, the loud slam of wood against wood. His mind still couldn't fully comprehend what he had just experienced. It was her; the same empty brown eyes, the same undeniable features. He looked back at the man standing next to him, worry etched on his face. The only emotion he himself held was awe. The man shot him a cautious look as he shot past him and out the door. He was essentially rooted to his spot. No amount of force would be able to shift him from his standing position. The bags he held felt like they weighed tons. He placed then on the rotting floor. There was nothing good here. The village was in ruin. He scanned the room again. His body was subconsciously moving, yet it hadn't steered him out the door. This was the world of the living dead. He couldn't understand why she would put herself in this hell. She had never seemed like the person to be charitable with her time. She had loathed the idea of going off with him to Africa years before. He leaned down and picked the second set of drugs off the floor. He started toward the cooler he had seen her previously place the first set into.   
  
He had to walk over bodies; every bed was filled. Patients littered the floor, gasping for air; they seemed to be pleading for death. The room seemed to be divided into sectors, he was realizing this as he followed a path. To the left, the men; to the right, the women. The children were scattered around the room. The most critical patients were in the darkest sector of the room, separated by a threadbare curtain. Every body was emaciated; shutting down from lack of nourishment and the wrath of disease. This wasn't the Congo. This was worse. He reached the counter and began to empty the supplies. None of the items he unpacked could make a difference for the people lying at his feet. It was beyond hope.   
  
The coughing in the room seemed to come in a steady chorus; it never ceased. He could see the multitude cringing in pain. This could be hell on earth. He wanted to do something, but everything seemed out of his control. No amount of medicine could help these innocent people. He didn't know where to start. He had to wait for her. She had been here for three years. How had she made it for so long? The man had told her a brief history about the woman he would be working with. He knew little, or so he thought. She had volunteered after finishing her second year of residency in the states. The village had accepted her, and she was the only doctor they trusted. She knew the language and customs. The words of advice he had received seemed ironical now. "Stay on her good side unless you would care to be killed."   
  
He heard the door swing open. The rain was still pouring heavily. The thatched roof provided little shelter from the wet of the outside world. He looked up and saw the man leading her into the room. Her hair was matted down to her face and shoulders. Her clothes were soaked to the core; he could discern her ribs outlined in the thin white shirt. He could still see the figure of the woman he had known before. The woman he had held in his arms and made love to. Currently she looked like a shadow of that woman. The rain only highlighted her exhaustion and fatigue. She appeared like a patient, rather than the care giver. The man bustled around her, giving her a towel which she threw around her shoulders. She was handed a pair of dry scrubs, but she only placed them in her lap. She gazed lifelessly around the room. She had been affected much too deep by the harsher reality of life: death.   
  
He observed as the man walked to the cooler. He did it in an almost sympathetic way. He stopped by the few patients he knew, exchanging little words, but the emotions were evident on his somber face. He got to the cooler and opened the black door, quickly shifting through a few boxes, and finding what he was looking for. He grabbed a needle from the counter, and retraced his steps back to the woman. He filled the needle with the drug and shot it into her left arm. She barely twitched, her eyes were closed now and her body was shivering. He watched another woman from across the room get up. She was tall and built, but the effects of starvation were visible nonetheless. Her skin was a deathly black, a native of the area. Her thin dress flapped carelessly as she walked toward the invaders. They were essentially invaders, disrupting life for the masses of people.   
  
The black woman walked over to the white woman. Two different races, two different lives, yet both shared a common bond: they had seen death before. The black woman kneeled before the white, her hand running gently over her face. The two women said nothing, but it seemed like they managed to alleviate each other's pain. Slowly, he watched her break down, falling into the open arms of the black woman. She must hold some authority here, the mother of all. The black woman whispered something to her. She nodded her head, and the women separated. The black woman got up, leaning over and placing a kiss on the white woman's head. He saw how closely knit the community was. When one person suffered, everyone suffered. Racial divides were erased here, the only thing that mattered was respect.   
  
The woman got up from the chair, wiping away the last tears from her face. She ran the towel through her hair, and put it back down on the chair. She placed the scrubs on the towel and turned around. She started to talk to the man, who nodded at her sympathetically, but got down to business a few seconds later. He was leaving the village. He was only an escort. She gave him a tight hug and a quick kiss. He heard something said to her about taking care of herself. She nodded her head, but he knew she dismissed the thought altogether. There were people here in worse condition than she was.   
  
He focused on her. She watched the man exit through the screen into the pouring rain. Her hand was running over the spot where she had received the injection. She scanned the room, looking over her patients. She saw something, taking a gentle step around bodies. A few moments later he saw her pick up a body from the arms of a father. The baby was screaming; the father did not know what to do. She rocked the baby in her arms. It looked like a doll rather than a human being. She scanned the room again, a different perspective being given from that point. He met her gaze for a second; she quickly diverted all contacts. With the baby in her arms, she began to walk toward him. He saw the respect and admiration the people had for her. Everyone knew her; she was their last hope. They knew death was inevitable, but the passage is easier with compassion and love. The two things that most people earned for, the same two things she offered them.   
  
She made her way toward him, checking vitals on her way there. The room was cramped and overcrowded. The people had no where else to go. He stood right next to her. She still hadn't looked up at him. The coughing overtook her body once more, and he took the baby from her arms. He held the little boy in his arms, watching her gasping for air. After a few seconds, it passed. She took the boy from his arms and looked out at the screen.   
  
"When it stops raining, we need to go triage."  
  
Her voice was more raspy than he remembered, but she had changed. This was a permanent change; no one went to the ends of the earth and came back the same person. Her manner was delicate and compassionate. She knew the fate that awaited her. He watched her hand the sleeping child to another woman, who gently embraced the baby. She trudged over to the door, opening it and standing on the shielded porch. Her arms were wrapped around her body; he was instantly pulled toward her. He ignored the threatening glances from the patients around the room. They were protective of her. He opened the wooden door slowly, a cool gust of wind hitting him, cooling his body down. He stepped out on the tattered floor, making his way toward her. She stood with her back to him. He was close enough to hear her heart beating, yet far enough to not hear her screaming for help. His hand went upon her shoulder. Her flesh was warm under his touch. She snapped away from him, moving forward.   
  
"Abby . . . "  
  
His voice cracked under the weight of her name. It had been almost four years since he said it last. He dug his hands into his pockets, unsure of what to do. He stood watching her, the most beautiful woman on the face of the earth. She slowly turned toward him, fear and regret etched on her worn face.   
  
"Forget the past."   
  
She walked past him, going back into the shelter of the clinic. 


	3. Starry Oceans

Author's Notes:: Sorry I was supposed to update yesterday but I sort of got lazy so here's another chapter. This takes place in Sierra Leone, which is in Africa.  
  
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Every muscle in his body ached. It was a combination of the humidity and the hostile work environment. The people seemed to need him and resent him at the same time. She had said it would take time, but he would not be productive. He wanted to help, but sometimes help took sacrifices as well. They had seen over 100 patients today alone. She was a natural, accustomed to the complaints and the people. He was a complete outsider, lost in a world of primitive diseases and worthless antibiotics. All advanced medicine needed to escape from his thoughts. He had to go down to the basics, the simplest killers. He closed the door behind him as he left the clinic and the patients. The rainstorm in the middle of the day had only added to the heat. The ground was muddy and damp, yet the air was heavy. His shoes got caught in patches of dirt on the way to the shelter. He was sharing a two bedroom wooden lodge with her. It was apparently the second most stable structure in the whole area. He walked through the village, avoiding any eye contact. He hadn't been greeted with such hostility before.  
  
He finally saw the house the man had described to him earlier. It was built on a foundation of rock, the structure made out of wood. It was off to the side, yet close enough for emergencies. He paused for a minute, it hit him at that second that he was in a completely different nation, in a completely different world. He looked off toward the setting sun in the west. It was a completely different sunset, more vibrant. There was nothing to pull away from mother nature's glory. He headed toward the house, unsure of what the night may bring. The trail he was on was a worn one, probably by her and her aides. He could hear children laughing in the background. They still managed to laugh, the simple joy of life. He was growing weary and exhausted. He hadn't eaten anything all day, and he had lost his appetite knowing that people went on for weeks without food.  
  
He got to the front of the house, a set of stairs blocked his path. He could barely lift his legs to walk to the house, let alone handle a set of stairs. They looked like they had been through hell, and were unsettling and unstable. He tried the first one with his weight, and when that one held, he went up the second. After twelve stairs without collapsing through the rotting board, he stepped up onto a veranda that seemed in particularly good condition. His bags were left standing by the door, he hadn't brought a lot. A few changes of clothes and nothing more. He started to pick up the bags, but instead decided against it, and followed around the veranda to the back of the house.  
  
He looked out at the barren land, trees had been cut down to be used as fuel. There was no vegetation, a few streaks of green here and there. It looked like the world was slowly in decline, the people were trying to save what little hopes they had. He pushed forward, wanting to do so much for these people, yet he was worthless. One person could not change the world. He got to the back, and the squeak of a swing attracted his attention. He followed the sound. The world had turned dark and eerie with only the stars as light. He saw a wooden swing, probably ages old, yet still in use. He saw her sitting comfortably in it, one leg along the length of the swing, her other bare foot pushing lazily against the deck. She was wearing a sleeveless dress, made out of some light material. Next to her laid another breathing form, a little girl. She had the girl resting against her chest, her arm protectively around her. Both of their eyes were closed, the girl was asleep, the woman was not. She was wide awake, resting and recuperating for the next day. She could feel his presence a few feet away; she looked up. She instantly tensed up, avoiding his gaze once again. He had spent the entire day working by her side, yet they had not exchanged any words beyond formalities. He walked closer, and she gently began to sit up, trying not to wake the sleeping child.  
  
He looked closer at the girl, she was African, of that he was sure. She had dark skin and hair, but she did not look as impoverished as the rest. Even as she was sleeping, she held an aura of joy and comfort. He watched her lean down and pick the dark figure from the swing. She delicately placed the girl's head onto her shoulder; the motherly instinct that he had sensed about her was in full play. One of her arms held the girl up and the other swung around her back to keep her steady. She walked past him, trying not to acknowledge his presence. She got to the screen door, and expertly opened it. The girl would not stir. She walked into the house, leaving him alone.  
  
He sat down on the set of stairs in the back. These seemed newer and more stable than the ones in front. It may have purposely been done to discourage people from coming up them. He rolled his head from side to side, stretching the muscles in his neck. He had never experienced such silence. The only thing he could hear is the chirping of crickets and the beating of his heart. The stars shimmer vibrantly against a black sky. There were no lights to take away from the grandeur of the show. He could hear the slap of bare feet against wood inside the house, the clank of glasses. He didn't want to move. He didn't know what to expect. The door swung open and shut, with a little less delicacy. She sat down on the top step, careful to keep her distance. She handed him a glass, filled with what he presumed to be water. He took it and sipped it slowly, letting the cool liquid ease his throat. He looked back up at her. She was starring out at the barren fields. Her hair was down, and the light breeze that happened to come through shifted strands around her face. The material of her dress also flew with the wind, yet she took no notice. She either was trying to ignore it or she was accustomed to it. She pushed the hair behind her ears and looked down at the wooden steps. He knew she was trying to avoid the inevitable questions he would ask. She was trying to mentally distance herself so she had no recollection of this conversation in the morning.  
  
She crossed her arms in front of her lap, putting her head down into the basket she formed. She looked exhausted; taking care of herself was obviously not one of her main concerns. She would slowly wither away in this foreign land. His eyes rested on her, not being able to pull away. He had dreamed of her during his darkest hours, the time he felt like he couldn't go on. She was an angel etched in white. He still had hate for her; he still resented her for what she had done. Yet he wished she had stayed. It would have taken time, but she would always be let back into his heart. He maneuvered his body up slowly, step by step until he was on the same platform as she was. He moved closed to her, his hand reaching out to touch her. She was real; this wasn't a dream. She jumped at his touch; he was a disease. His hand stayed stable, a different shade completely from her skin. He started to pick her head up to face his, yet she retaliated, pushing his hand off. She looked up at him for a second; her expression showed uncertainty and fear. She eased herself up; his hand ran the length of her body. She was so delicate and fragile: a completely different woman. He watched her walk back inside the house. She glanced back for a second. He wanted to follow her, but it would be no use. She had locked herself up a long time ago and thrown the key away in the deepest, darkest ocean. 


	4. Moonlight

Author's Notes: Another chapter. What else is there to say? Please read and review.   
  
He awoke in a daze. He was soaked in sweat; the mattress dug into his aching back. His breathing was heavy and labored and his pulse was racing. He shifted his gaze around the small room, the unfamiliar surroundings doing little to break the terror. He sat up, his bare feet hitting the wooden floor hard. This was all alien to him, some unreal dream. It wasn't a dream. He closed his eyes, the heat doing little to alleviate the discomfort he felt. He swallowed a gulp of air. The humidity made the oxygen that he swallowed burn his lungs. His head was swimming with thoughts of death, yet he knew he wasn't going to die. He held onto the cheap cotton mattress and took slow small breaths. He finally opened his eyes again. He recognized the forms of simple furniture though the dull moonlight. He wanted to pull his fragile body off the bed and to get away from the cell. Yet his body was being reluctant. His legs did not move on his command. He was stranded. A mind without a body. His hand reflexively moved to wipe away the beads of sweat that started to stream down his temple. He was slowly regaining consciousness. He tested his leg again, it seemed to move. The other one did as well. Yet he sat there. He was breathing normally; the air still burned his lungs. He was in stillness, the world seemed to stop moving. He heard the chirping of crickets in the distance, but that too came sparse. He could have heard the rays of moonlight had he tried. He heard another sound, low and subdued. It was close, extremely close. He pushed his body off the bed, regaining his balance. Each step seemed to be a great accomplishment for him. The wood was hard against his bare feet; it had been left unsanded and unfinished. His feet hit the floor in an even balance, emitting a small slap with every step. He slid open the wooden doors and entered the hallway; still following the gentle sound he heard earlier. It was louder now, he could almost trace it with his finger.   
  
His journey led him to an open door. He knew who it inevitably was. He had never seen her cry; she had been so strong before. A lot of things had changed, things he was not fully aware of. He paused at the edge of the doorway. He leaned on the doorframe. The cool wood hit his skin like fire on ice. It was a split second of relief, but it helped him retain his sanity. He peered into the room, it was twice as large as his, but it also had twice as many occupants. He saw her immediately; his senses seemed to pull her out of any situation. She sat in a large wooden rocking chair. By the indents and shredded pieces, he knew it was old. The floorboards creaked with every time she pushed herself back. Her right leg was curled up to her chest. Her left foot was the one pushing off the floor. He saw her shaking body with every sob. She was attempting to stifle them. It was no use. Her body seemed to cave in. Her shoulders were hunched in, her hands wiping away the ever growing stream of tears. He saw her face in a different manner in the moonlight. The tears seemed to whisk away all hope from her face, and he was left with a simple pained face. It made her dark olive skin look almost ghostly. She was a pallid gaunt figure. He watched her rock back and forth, the only comfort she seemed to have.   
  
A fit of coughing escaped from the corner of the room. A tiny airway gasping for a minuscule amount of oxygen. He looked back at the spectral shadow on the chair. Her hands whipped away the rivers, and she stood up. He leaned in closer against the doorframe, watching her take a meticulous gait toward the ailing girl. The uneven panels of wood began to dig into the bare skin on his back; he ignored the sensation and continued to focus on the image in front of him. Her hands pushed the thin layer of sheets from the tiny form. She sat down on the bed, placing the child's head onto her lap; she positioned her head on her thighs, opening her airway to give her more oxygen. With every gasp, he could see the fear prevail more and more on her face. After an eternity, the girl started to breathe normally again. He watched the woman's hands run over her hair, pushing strands back. She whispered memories to ease both their fears. The little girl sat up, and the woman took her into her arms. The little girl's head found a comfortable spot on her shoulder and she closed her eyes. The woman stood up, supporting the little girl by her thighs. She looked invincible at that moment. The diminutive arms wrapped tightly around her petite frame. She held the girl securely, taking gentle steps back and forth. He watched her; he couldn't tear his eyes away from her. She was meant to be a mother. So many years she lied to herself; let her fears control her destiny. He watched her gaunt hands run up and down the little girl's back, lulling her into a peaceful slumber. He watched her place a sequence of kisses along the girl's head and cheek. She pulled her body up, but her arms were tiring. She gave up and placed the sleeping form on the bed, another feather-light kiss on her forehead. She took the sheet and pulled it over her body; she fixed the pillow so her head was leaning back, letting her breathe a bit easier. She sat down, taking the girls frail hands into her own. She pulled them into her lap, running her thumb over the tiny fingers. She closed her eyes, taking in a few deep breaths; she seemed to be meditating, yet he knew she was forcing herself not to cry.   
  
"I love you, Kara."  
  
Her voice echoed through the empty house; it seemed to be so loud and so unheard at the same time. It hung in the air, he could almost reach out and touch the vibrations as they moved farther and farther away from the room. She placed a kiss on the little girl's forehead, and started back toward her window seat. He watched her gracefully resume her position, almost unaltered. Her cheeks were red from the salty tears, and her body shook. But she still looked heavenly. An angel on earth. The gentle scintilla of the lunar wonder on her figure reminded him of the past. He had spent endless nights just watching her sleep. Her chest would rise with every breath; her blonde hair would pan out against the creme-colored pillows. He could almost feel her body next to his, the cold winter nights they spent in each other's arms. He could see through the pellucid white shirt she wore. He was drawn to her, in every way possible. He saw the curves under the thin material; he could almost feel his hands running over her body again. He remembered her soft skin; it always smelled of lavender. He could distinguish where her breasts began to form; how his hands used to run over them and caress her nipples under the covers. It had been a game they played; it never failed to make her smile. It was all a distant memory; he had to let his past go. They would never go back to the people they had been before. It was a waste of time wishing to replay the past.   
  
Her hollow brown eyes met his; her pain fused through his body. He could almost feel what she was going through. He broke away; the first time he ever had. She was always the first one to crumble; but not anymore. He pushed himself to look up at her, but she had gone back to looking at the world of the dead through her window. He stood up and headed back to his room. There was no use in wanting to return to her. She had made it painfully obvious. They lived in two different worlds. 


	5. Past Decisions

Author's Notes: Sorry I don't update frequently. This story takes forever to write though. So just stick with me... And as always, my thanks to Kat for putting up with me o_0  
  
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The sky was an infused mixture of pale colors. The sun was a vapid yellow-orange against a streaming pink and violet sky. It was the sign of another long and grueling day that had come to a close. He heard the giggling of boys behind him. They had originally been afraid of him, but within a week's time, they followed him. He was prey to them; unsuspecting and uneducated about their customs and beliefs. He felt like such an outsider, and he was treated that way, within reason. The people either feared or respected him; not both. His feet dragged along the sandy ground, creating a mound of dust where he placed. His shirt was soaked onto his back from sweat. The temperature only seemed to escalade to unimaginable heights. It didn't make his trial any better. The smell of rotting flesh and death followed him everywhere. Never had he ever experienced so much death and decay. He held a newborn baby in his arms today and watched as it died. A little girl that had years in front of her, who could have given joy to so many. Her lungs forced her chest to move up and down, little breaths. Coughing, wheezing, her skin turned blue and purple. Her eyes closed. Seconds and she was gone. A chill ran down his spine. The world was exploring different planets, spending millions of dollars there. Yet people on Earth were dying because they do not have clean water or enough food. Life and death had been presented to him on a silver platter in their most natural form. He would never go back to the same person he was before.  
  
The sun was still visible when he reached his sanctuary. He walked around to the back, being met by a round of laughter. He stood in the shadow of the house, watching her. Her hair was let down for the first time since he had seen her. It fell to her mid-back. The eyes he had seen that night were gone. A genuine smile made the wrinkles on her face vanish. The little girl ran after her, and she dodged her small body. She picked the little girl up and swung her around in circles before collapsing on the dry grass. She held the girl on her lap, playing with her hands. The woman whispered to the little child, words of love and devotion. He watched her, the mother she had finally become. The strap of her shirt fell and the girl gently picked it up and placed it on her mother's beautiful body. He knew the girl idolized her. She tried to copy her graceful movements; the simple elegance of her step. He walked from the shadows. She heard him. Her hand reached up and motioned him toward the spot next to her. His feet wandered aimlessly toward her until he finally was in close proximity and collapsed on the cold, hard, uncomfortable dirt. She stood the child up and gave her a kiss on the cheek. She pushed the nimble body away toward the house. He had only seen them together at night; a daughter yearning for her mother.   
  
She watched the little girl lumper up the stairs before turning back toward him. Her eyes held dark circles under them; he could see the immense pain that she held inside. She had to hold it all inside. There was no other way. He remembered the same face, years before. She was different: full of life. There had been bad moments, but she held onto that hope. He helped her through it all. He gave her strength when the worst of the storm raged upon her fragile form. Now she was living life after the storm. Life after him. And she was living. He hadn't expected her to end up a million miles away from Chicago; painful and alone. He had always thought she would move on; any man to love her would be the luckiest man on the planet. Yet she gave up everything she had; and came here. He would go home. He knew she would never leave. She looked at him with tormenting eyes; she seemed to be crying out for a savior that would never come. He reflexively reached up and brushed the strands of hair away from her face. He felt like he was touching a part of her soul. She closed her eyes, turning away from him slowly.   
  
"How do you do this every day?"  
  
He watched her shrug her shoulders, pushing her hair back once again. She seemed at a loss for words, unable to describe the horrors she dealt with every day for the past years.   
  
"You get used to it."  
  
Her voice was low, mixing in with the gentle breeze and being carried away to lands beyond the hell they were in.   
  
"You never get used to death."  
  
She looks up at the sky, finding something to relate to. She wants to spill her soul, but the words just won't come out.   
  
"You learn to accept it."  
  
He let the silence settle between them. All that could be heard for miles around was the two of their hearts beating in union with one another. It was almost the perfect fairy tale to him; he almost forgot that only steps away there were babies, children, adults: human beings fighting for their lives. They didn't know when their last breathe would be, whether they would die alone in the middle of the night. Or if they would slowly wither away in unbelievable pain for weeks to come.   
  
"You've changed."  
  
He saw no expression on her face. A simple plain fact that he made known. She had changed, changed into an emotionally destroyed woman; yet she was stronger. She had built up those stone-cold fortress walls again; they were permanent. He would never break them down. He had been a part of that extirpation.   
  
"People don't change."  
  
Her voice gave out at the end. She wanted to make herself believe her own words, her own lies. He wouldn't let her. She was worth so much more than she would ever know.   
  
"You have."  
  
His words came out stable and authoritative. He wanted to make her believe his words, not her own ideals. She never reached her maximum potential; too afraid of taking a chance; of letting herself love. He let himself love her; and he took the hardest, deepest, most wretched fall. He had never stopped.  
  
"People change physically, mentally, emotionally. Their ideas, dreams, hopes can take new routes. But people never change completely. I'm still the same self-depreciative, miserable person you left that night."  
  
He watched her ease herself off the ground and brush off the grass that stuck to her body. She started a short, quick trot toward the security of the house. He mentally debated what to do. Would any words make her realize her true destiny? Would he be able to get through to her? He stood up and rushed after her, the rough grass digging into his bare feet. His eyes stung from wind and dust. His body ached from the excessive heat. He reached her, the most work he had been able to do in weeks. He grabbed her arm. His grasp exceeded wrapping around it. She was so unnaturally thin. She froze in her spot, her hand instantly numbed. It's like she's never been touched by a human being in her life.   
  
"I never meant to leave."  
  
She snatched her wrist away from him, nursing it in her other hand. The spot that he grabbed burned deep under her skin, sending shocks through her whole body. He could see the uneasiness in her face, the hurt etched on everything that she was.   
  
"You never meant to come back."  
  
She brushed him off herself and ran up the flight of stairs. She would never be his again. She would never open herself up to him; they would never have the same relationship they had. He grabbed hold of the wooden railing and carefully maneuvered his body to a sitting position. He had never gone back. 


	6. Colors of Chaos

He followed her adriot body through the rough green plants and coarse grass. His body was scratched and scraped at every exposed patch of skin. The sweat dripped down his his neck and shoulders onto the open wounds; the salt made the pain unbearable. He had to keep going, he had to keep following her. His tendons ached with every laboured movement. The humid air made his lungs feel like they would explode at any moment. Every breath he took only put more pressure on his chest; it left him gasping for oxygen. He wanted nothing more than eupnea. She was almost running, leaving him behind in the darkness of an unfamiliar place. The phantasmal noises helped his pace quicken. He ran his hand over his face, the reminder of his journey was left in a chilling blood-tone. The burning sensation passed again; he was in so much physical pain. He looked up and saw her body move; she turned left. He tried to steady a jog but his body wouldn't cooperate. He felt the exhaustion and the heat beating down on his deteriorating body. He saw black spots and circles in front of his eyes. The world was slowly spinning around him. He felt an arm slip around his waist, leading him into an unknown direction. His feet replied to her movements; yet they were completely limp. She leaned him down, guiding his torso towards a soft path of grass in a parched desert. He felt a cool rivulet down his face; ice upon fire. He opened his eyes. The sun enlight her face with a golden glow, she looked almost unearthly.The liquid ran over his face, slipping into his dry mouth or completley streaming down his chin onto his face. She cradled his head in her lap, gently washing out the gashes with the sustaining water. Her fingers took away any affliction he felt. Her hand rested on his cheek; she looked off towards the descening sun.   
  
"We've got about a mile left."  
  
He felt his head being relieved of its resting place. She placed her worn hand out for him to take, easing him up off the ground. He held on to her for a few seconds longer. The way their hands fit perfectly together. A dull memory replaced by torment. She snapped away, starting towards the path.   
  
"It's a worn-path and straight. You won't get lost."  
  
Her quickened pace sustained itself again and she was off, a speck of blonde hair amidst the dark greens and browns of a forest. He quickened his pace after her. He would never be alone with her again. He wanted to know the truth. All the truth she kept hiding in her heart; the things she would never tell another soul. He felt the earth crack under him with each step. Twigs and branches, dry leaves, and dead plants all made their home to the ground. He could hear her only a few feet away. He couldn't catch up to her. The closer he seemd to get, the farther away she would run. She was like a flower petal swept into the wind. Nothing would stop her; nothing would detour her from her unmarked journey. He was within reach of her. He could almost feel her against him, yet he couldn't grab her. His fingers caught ahold of her arm and held on. She stopped within second, still wanting to fight him. His hands felt the tingle of her skin upon his. A feel he had longed for. He pulled her closer to him and brushed the strands of hair away from her sunburned face. She avoided his gaze like she always had. Her eyes were the key to her soul. She was forcing herself to stay away from him yet he was stronger than her. Much stronger than she had originally intended he would be. He slowly pulled her chin up to meet his. His hands played on her delicate skin. He had been longing forever just to touch her. His head leaned in and met her dry lips in a forced attempt. He felt her hands pull him towards her. He tasted the salt of her tears under the cover of her sweet kiss. She pulled away from him; he wanted her to stay. He had lost so much time. She started to shake her head, the tears streaming down in small rivers without ends. He held her fingers with the ends of his.   
  
She wanted to run. He wouldn't let her go. Her wrist snapped violently and she started disappearing into the darkness. His fingers went up to his lips. Is this reality? Or a cruel joke the sun has played on him? He ran his hands through his hair, pulling on the ends. He sunk down to his knees, the wood scrapes and harsh thorns digging into his bare flesh. The blood started to pour but it meant nothing to him. He was permanently scarred from the inside out. He sat down on his calves, the muscles stretching and causing pain. Frustration ripped through his body and tears began to swell up in his dark brown eyes. He picked himself back off the floor and started towards the direction he had seen her last. The bitter leaves whipped at his vulnerable body; insects swarmed at his exposed skin. He kept treading on towards home. The mile stretched out for decades; every step took more force than the last. He was barely dragging himself through the last bit of parched grass. Everything around him began to blurr. The trees and the wildlife, the flowers and the birds. The people, the huts, the children. His meaning in life, his future, his past. A big giant jumble of colors with no meaning. It created nothing beatiful but something deadly and destructive. Something so horrid that it scared him. He was left alone in the world, his one chance at happiness gone. He would never have what he invisioned. He had aimed for perfection and been dropped for the highest peak into reality.   
  
Reality was the most painful of all. 


	7. Unexpected

Author's Notes:: Sorry for the confusion... I fixed it right now.. I'm not good with names and I think I went back to a different story.. But whatever.... I'm hoping that this clears up all the confusion and it will become even clearer next chapter, I promise!

He stared at the star-dotted sky, being lulled by the peacefulness and constancy. Everyone looked at the same stars every night, every single person had dignity, had life, had hope. Why wasn't the world equal and fair? Everyone had the same needs and desires, yet the mixture of rich and poor, high class and low class, left everyone in suffering. So much could be done here to alleviate the suffering of all these people, yet no one cared. The world was unbelievably self centered. He breathed in the fresh, humid air. It was free of all impurities. The air hit his lungs like an invigorating splash of cold water on a blistering summer day. The purity flushed his body out, he had never actually felt true air. It was a different life, more painful, yet more full. There was nothing here to take away from life. Every day was a struggle to survive, but it was met with force. Everyone had a job to do, and interdependence was key. He pushed himself on the worn wooden swing. The bit of wind provided an escape. The only sound around him was that of the creak of the swing, the rubbing of the metal chain, and silence. He knew silence like never before. Back home there was nothing like pure silence, and now he realized it was music to him.   
  
The wood felt warm under his body, but he stayed, too preoccupied with his thoughts. He started out at the horizon, the mass of lands untouched my human hands. Every day he experienced something different, whether it be pain or joy. He heard a rustle of brush, and his attention instantly diverted towards the noise. She stood there, illuminated by the night like an goddess. Her pale white skin blended in with the moon, half human, half unearthly. Her hair cascaded loosely down her shoulders, she was starring off towards the road, eyeing something. She was untouchable as the heavens, broken and destroyed as the sand, yet as beautiful as a thousand angels. He saw her gentleness with her patients. She had changed in so many ways. She was not outspoken, but calm and understanding. She rarely said a word, as if hiding everything inside her fragile frame. It would all destroy her, like a building with a crumbling foundation. All it takes is one like shake and everything comes crashing. He could watch her for hours if only permitted. She avoided him at all costs, helping him only when necessary. He felt everything that he refused to admit. He wanted to pretend he didn't love her. Yet his love grew for her with every second. He knew his love was unrequited. She was in a world so far away from what she had known. She was at the bottom of her own black whole and still falling. He wanted to help her in any way, but he knew she was beyond saving. He watched her start a slow walk toward oncoming headlights. Her hands wrapped tighter around herself, her shoulders hunching farther over, wanting to protect herself from something. Someone.   
  
He saw a grim figure make its way out of the vehicle and in the darkness he could make out a man's features. He was tall, much taller than her, than him. He stood like a mountain to a valley compared to her. He had dark hair, a dark complexion in general. He moved closer to the edge, eyeing the scenario unfolding before him. The man walked up to her, he could see his mouth uttering words, sending her into restraint and repose. She shrugged her shoulders in reply. They starred at each other. Neither one knew what to say or do, how to act around each other. Long lost lovers perhaps, or simply friends who had forgotten. Either way, he was out of the picture, an invisible piece of the puzzle that would never fit. She stepped closer to him. The car behind them turned around and headed towards a different destination. He watched the man hesitate, his hand raising then falling. She refused to make eye contact with him, rather starring at the ground or at the fields beyond. Finally she moved in closer, her head rested against his chest. His hands wrapped protectively around her, running up and down her back. He could see her body shaking with the sobs she tried to hide.   
  
He was so much taller and bigger than her. She was a twig standing next to a tree. He picked her up in his arms, her body rolling up tighter, holding on to him more than ever before. Who was he? A pang of jealousy ran through his mind. Had she moved on? Was that why she avoided him? The figure made its way closer and closer. He made the sharp contours of her body out in his arms. The weight of his steps made the grass under him crack. He saw her body almost lifeless in his hands. They walked closer and closer, he could make out the man better. He had dark brown hair and suntanned skin. He was built and strong. He had an aura of familiarity in him. His step, his movements, his compassion. He didn't know. The two made their way up the stairs and he looked away. This wasn't the time to be pondering what could have been, but what is happening.   
  
The world began to collapse around him. The refreshing air now choking him into oblivion. He couldn't grasp a breathe of air. He couldn't see, he couldn't think. Everything he had been wanting to happen, all the plans he had made, slowly slipped between his fingers. He had been holding on to the edge of a cliff and the cliff let him go. The door slammed behind him, he felt a presence that made his hair stand on end. It made the atmosphere fill with hate and envy, pain and jealousy. He didn't make a move to turn around, neither did the unknown man choose to move closer. They stood at a distance, both knowing what the other was thinking. It was a game, a mental battle that both were determined to win.  
  
"Carter."  
  
His name rolled off the man's tongue in a familiar fashion, as if he had heard it before so many times before. He had heard it many times before. Yet he couldn't remember how or what. It was a riddle hiding inside of him, he knew he had a few seconds before everything became clearer. He didn't know what to expect, and the surprise would cause him to drown. He let out a sigh, barely noticed by the figure now beside him. He looked up, the man's face slowly coming into focus in the dull light.   
  
"Luka."  
  
The two men stood, not uttering another word. Both knew why they were there. For her. For themselves. The unknown. He had probably been here so many times before. He didn't look like he had come from anywhere modern. He had a closer look, the sunburned skin, the tired eyes, the lifelessness behind him. He was here too, working with all the rest, trying to make a difference somewhere, for someone. He walked over the edge of the stairs and sat down, his body taking up half of the space.   
  
"I didn't know you were here."  
  
He hadn't expected to be there. It was all a matter of finding something right in his life, a search that only left him in a labyrinth with no way out. He would be turning corners and searching for the end, yet there would be none. He would be lost forever in his search. He had lost the map a long time ago, and the hope for exit was destroyed with a fire that scorched him from the inside. He was blackened and destroyed. The future looking no brighter than the present or the past. As far as he knew, there was no future for him. He had given it all up many years ago. There was no returning to the point. Everything has changed.   
  
"Why are you here?"  
  
He watched his forgotten friend run his hand through his tangled jet black hair. He swallowed, tasting the humidity in the air, as if swallowing a cup of water. It was humid and hot, the weather unrelentless. He sighed, searching for another answer to his question, but there was only one.   
  
"Kara's dying."


	8. Emotionless

Author's Notes: Another chapter. It's storming here and I have Bother by Corey Taylor on repeat right now. So that's my mood. I hope you enjoy. And I did fix the last chapter, and I will explain everything in greater detail in the next chapters... And I sorta had this other idea based on the song Whiskey Lullaby.. But yeah.. If anyone's heard that song.... It would make a very depressing fic... So just leave me a review (please) or if you want to chat, I'm always happy to... my AOL SN is FortunesFool97 and my MSN thing is my email address: ellaspyrkayahoo.com

The world blurs together around him. Day and night have ceased to exist, the only light he's been able to see is the single candle left burning in memory of a soul gone too far, too fast. The dark, brooding clouds have covered up the sky, making the sun nothing but a dull memory. The violent wind tugs at everything rooted and stable, yet it gets no where, and with frustration it blows harder. The rain beats down against the roof, the windows, the doors, the steps, the world. Pounding everything down into the earth, as if all the misery could disappear if it could make everything part of the dirt. The destruction of the rain mirrors the destruction of her heart. She's simply a shadow of the person she was. Her sobs ring through the night, interlaced with coughs and cries. Her eyes are permanently bloodshot, her hands shaking, her lungs gasping for air. She lays there on the bed, curled up in a tight ball, pushing the world away from her. She's wrapped up in her own grief, her own pain. Three days since the inevitable happened, the disease took her away from her mother. Her mother wants to be taken away. He hesitates to leave her alone. The power of her agony can render her emotionless.   
  
She stares off toward a blank white wall, starring toward it as if it held all the answers to the questions in her mind. The look on her face can't be described. The emotional pain has turned physical, aging her, destroying her. She looks like a living corpse, held to life with machines and ventilator, a person standing at her side and telling her when to inhale and exhale. She might forget what life is all about. She doesn't want to be breathing, the look she gave him told him that much. A pleading glance to help her die, her frail body can't take any more of it. She is dead, she died along with her daughter. Nothing would matter any more to her, everything that once held her to the earth bounds just dissipated. It stopped breathing, gave up the will to fight the losing battle.   
  
He walked away from her; her anguish radiates throughout the house. The coldness seems to seep from her, frozen and emotionless. The house has become a mausoleum; the only sound is that of the deafening sound of silence and tears. She won't get through this, the one person she finally found trust in. There will be no undoing the damage this time. She had always held these secrets behind her, he knew she wouldn't let herself believe in love. The world was nothing bu a place of torment, after her always, wanting to torture her. Yet she finally found someone she could love, and the world found a way to snatch that away from her.   
  
He leaned against the cold wall, sinking downward onto the wooden floor. His muscles ached and his head pounded. The atmosphere permanently held an ambience of death. The cooing words of her friend echo through the rooms, a low and gentle whisper. It seems to swim through the room until it is snatched by the blackness that is ever present. The house will see no happiness, comfort, or love. It will be embedded by decay, destruction, and hatred.   
  
He is a zombie; sleep has slowly faded from his memory. He travels from room to room, wanting to be helpful, but decided useless. The rain has changed to a light mist, and he walks toward the door. There is no good he can do. She has already decided her own fate. The metal hinges of the door scream in protest as he opens it, gently shutting it behind him. The house of despondency is too much for him to bear. His shoeless feet are greeted by the cold, rain-drenched water. He wanders slowly, farther and farther, watching the world transform into one of grey. One tone, one life, one loss. Everything was connected: death inevitable. The rainwater clings to his shirt, not yet seeping through. He watches the droplets gather on his skin before becoming overburdened and slowly trailing their way toward the ground. The birds chirp a silent melody through the grounds. The animals hide in their holes for protection, the people likewise in their homes.   
  
He saw a bright white dot amidst the tangle of green and gold. Slowly he made his way toward it, his feet taking the abuses of dry twigs and grasses. A simple flower, pushing forth from all the weeds. One flower wanting to make a difference, forcing its way out, then defeated by the majority. Its broken stalk left it tangled underneath the brush. He slowly leaned down, pushing the grass and weeds away, pulling the fighting bud away from all evils. He pulled it out, standing back up, holding it against his hand. It was the first beautiful flower he had seen. A gift from the heavens, a sign of hope. He didn't know. He wandered farther, he knew there was a rivulet made alive by the rains. He hoped to find it, and in turn, find life. His steps become wider and harder, yet he wasn't afraid of getting lost. The quieter life becomes, the more can be heard. The beauty of silence and peace.   
  
The trickling sound drew his attention, and behind a tall blade of a tree, he saw it. The water streamed down against the flat land, moving in no direction particular but down. It splashed along the edges, pushing the dry earth along. He watched the creatures scurry to the water, long deprived of the resource. He knelt down, placing the white flower on the surface. It was whisked away by the movement, flowing toward the unknown. A white rose among the blackest thorns. He got up heading back toward the house. 


	9. Memories

Author's Notes: Besides the fact that this fic takes forever to write.. I'm being pretty good about updates... It's so hard to write.. But I'm enjoying hte challange as much as I hope you guys are enjoying reading it.. So please read and review. You never know... I have a plan for this.. I don't know how many chapters it will be, but I've had the idea for a while.. So just hold on with me.. Things will get explained as we continue... I'm trying to keep along with Carter's POV of everything, which means he knows nothing... So when he learns anything, you will too... So please just drop me a line and tell me what you think.. the more reviews I get the happier I am and the more motivated I am to write...

He sat on the hardwood floor in his room. The humidity ripped through his body, the air became too hard to breathe in and out with. The sweat dripped down his temples, his back was already soaked. The lone lantern he held above him provided him with just enough light to see. The bugs buzzed around him, his recently acquainted friends. They kept away from him, and he left them alone. There was no point in trying to kill them. They would never disappear. The drizzle fled though his window and left a tiny stream of water into his room. The walls were in slow decay, the floor creaked with every step, the bed was harder than the floor. He didn't complain. At least he had a roof over his head and a bed to sleep on. Others had absolutely nothing.   
  
He glanced back down at the pictures he had been holding in his hand. He mindlessly left them in his suitcase, a memory of the move he had made years before with Kem. The mansion had been given up to research and had bought a house for the two of them and their baby. It still hurt him from inside. He lost a son, he lost Kem, he lost everything important to him. Or his jaded views of each. The pictures were slowly fading, the edges of the oldest ones turned into premature decay because of the atmosphere. He held a few, a recollection of his brother. The two brown haired, brown-eyed boys standing next to each other. Bobby was about a foot taller than him in the pictures, big brother with his little brother. They had been inseparable. Too many memories escalating toward him, so much to handle, he can't. He shifted the pile toward the middle, forgetting his childhood, a dull memory he had managed to force out.   
  
Then there was Kem. She had been the most beautiful thing he had ever laid eyes on. She was so passionate and strong willed. He was instantly drawn to her. He knew from their first meeting something was there between them. He had been right, but maybe it just wasn't the time or the place. He thought about her lying in bed alone at night. If she was doing okay, if she survived, if she was happy. Pictures never change, even if the people in them do. He noticed the creased edges, the little rips on the sides. He had tried willing her back to him through the pictures. His fingers ran over her smiling face, if he could only touch her once again . . . His fingers left prints, obscuring her, damaging her, destroying her. He pushed them away, throwing them down onto the open suitcase. They landed with a hard flop, as if every picture had absorbed the painful association he held with each. He picked his frail and worn body off the floor, forcing him muscles to move. He heard the sound of two voices echoing from her room. Their vibrations held in the dense air, stretching each word out for miles. He made his way closer. Luka was scolding her. She was forcing back sobs. The floor under his steps creaked. He stayed a few feet away, within distance of the words.   
  
"Abby, she's gone. You knew this would happen from the beginning. You gave her the best you could . . . "  
  
He could almost see her, rocking back and forth on the bed, hugging the pillow in her arms as tears rolled down her red cheeks. The memories she held will never stop haunting her. She will see her daughter in everything around her, the walls, the bed, the floor, the trees, the flowers, the grass. It will be a constant reminder of her struggle that she will never break away from her. It's like a deep, red scar that keeps on being ripped open, allowed to bleed.   
  
"It wasn't enough! I could have done more . . . I could have brought her to the states, I could have done something . . . anything . . . "  
  
Her voice comes out and cracks, straining to make sounds. Her lungs continue to gasp for air, sending her coughing. Her loudest voice is merely a whisper, no energy left to try more than that. He walks closer, peering through the hole made by the door and frame. He's sitting beside her now, holding her body upright, supporting her life. She's slowly disintegrating. She used to be a heavy, hard stone. Now she's turned into nothing but simple grains of sand, the transformation almost complete. The last few specks breaking into small and smaller pieces.   
  
"You need to go home."  
  
Her hand violently pushes him away, sending him a distance away from her. She's doing it again: pushing anyone who cares away from her. Pretending she can do it on her own. Just like the flower in the weeds, she can't do it. Everyone is dependant on someone else. It's not a weakness but a strength.   
  
"This is home."  
  
She pulls her legs closer to her body, wrapping her arms around them, leaning against the wall. The dark black circles around her eyes are clearly seen. Her cheeks are permanently red. Her hair is greasy and disheveled, thrown into a catastrophe by the events. Her locks fall in front of her eyes, shielding her from seeing the world around her. She looks like a lost child, afraid and alone. He tries to place his hand near her, to push away the strands from her face but she cringes away from him. His touch is acid against her skin. He burns right through her, burning coal against a frail flower.   
  
"Abby . . . "  
  
She lays down, covering her shivering body with the blankets she has gathered. The temperature is boiling, yet she's shaking from cold. She wraps her body as close to itself as she can, burying her head in the pillow, locked off from the rest of the world. It's a lost battle. She'll never change. She's never going to be what everyone envisions her to be.   
  
"No."  
  
Her voice is steady and calm. Her decision has been made. He sighs heavily, throwing his hands up in defeat. He makes his way toward her, pushing her hair away, ignoring her movements away from him. He places a delicate kiss on her dry lips. She closes her eyes, pushing the tears away. She touches her lips as he moves away, his touch, his taste: a memory. He leans down again, another kiss on her forehead. His voice whispers a sweet command, a gentle pacifying song.   
  
"Take care of yourself... I love you."  
  
He makes his way toward the door, away from the secrets they revealed. He wasn't supposed to know. His hand wipes away the drops of perspiration gathering along his brown. His shoulders ache from the constant struggle to keep the world alive. His back has lost the battle with pain. He simply beared it now. There is no help for it, no drugs, no antidotes, nothing. The physical pain he burdens is nothing compared to the mental pain she holds within her fragile form. She's so tiny, undeserving of all this. He could see her years before. Strong-willed and determined, beautiful, radiant, shimmering eyes, and when she smiled, she was the only woman in the world he ever wanted. His retention was a lie.   
  
The door slammed shut behind him, he glanced back at the man he no longer knew. Time had changed everything and everyone. The strained relationships, the silence, the unrest fulness could be heard and felt like a knife getting through vulnerable flesh. He received a look of distrust and hopelessness. The woman they both loved was slowly slipping away to a new hell, where the only thing she saw was rivers flowing with blood, black skies, and acid falling like rain, corroding her from the inside out. The life she was is no longer. He walked, not saying a word, glancing back, as if thinking she would follow him, and he would be able to help her. Nothing moved, not even the grass. He looked back toward the path. He was gone, a small speck slowly disappearing into the horizon leaving her with him. She didn't trust him, she wouldn't go near him, he was afraid to say a word to her. He felt like he was imprisoned, the only way to break out is to love again. He's in fetters with her, except she's chain-less. She has no control over anything, he did this to himself. He put the shackles upon himself. He ran his hand through his dark brown mane. The end has come, but there is an even harder beginning. 


	10. Truths

Author's Notes: It's summer. So I'm doing alot of writing. I'm doing this fic for sure, then I'm actually taking over one of Kat's fics called _Picking Up the Pieces_.. Which should be interesting,a nd she's taking over one of mine, _Replacing the Past_. I'm going to do alot of stand alones, and maybe a few series.. Who knows what will happen, but this one I am defintely going to finish, I just have to be in the mood when writing it cause it is very very very difficult to write!!!  
  
Days slowly dragged on until eternity. Every second felt like an hour. The heat was unbearable, turning the grassy plains into desserts. The animals barely walked, dehydrated and unmotivated. The women and children stayed in the shade, made only cooler by a few degrees. He spent the majority of the time in the scalding furnace. His face, back, shoulders, and arms were scourged from the vicious sun. His once white skin was now a mixture of dark browns and fiery reds. His feet barely wanted to make the walk home. The sun had begun to descend on its daily journey, yet the temperature had not decreased. The sand under his feet sizzled with every step. The crickets chirped hidden in the weeds. The only sound that of vultures searching for their prey. He continued. Every labored step drained him of all his energy. His shoes felt too heavy on his feet. His clothes: an unnecessary burden that weighed him down by tons. He could see the horizon starting to spin around him. His footing was rash and uncontrolled.   
  
He wanted to make it home, to that shack in the middle of the plains, and lie down. He didn't want to move. The mass of sick and dying patients, young and old, big and small, strong and weak. All became too much to bear. He envied her for being here. She had somehow managed to live through it all. He saw the building in the distance, the sun almost officially departed. He wandered slowly, the sweat pouring down his temples and cheeks, soaking his shirt and body. He reached up the streams that threaten to block his vision. The salt ran over the wounds, burning and corroding him. He was now not a novice to pain. He learned to deal. There was no other way. He made it to the first steps, sitting down upon the parched wood. It was burning through his shorts, but any rest for his aching muscles. The pain transcended from his head toward his neck and back, all the way to his calves. Movement was impossible. He lay down on the steps. The unfinished wood digging slivers into his skin. He could feel the nails from the boards penetrating into his side. He didn't care.   
  
He heard the patter of footsteps above him. The sound of light bare feet upon wood. A sound that is so common to homes in every country, to every people. The slow progression of growth. Her breathing was heavy. The humidity made the air thicker. She was almost wheezing, trying to take in oxygen, but only being able to fill one fourth of her lungs. Yet she didn't falter, she stood straight and looked out into the horizon. She reminded him of a statue, a graceful, elegant statue that stood through the best and worst conditions, only to come out stronger in the end. Time and tortures only made her more worthy of the honors, the imperfections making her more valuable.  
  
He felt her hands slip carefully in front of him, handing him a cup of water. He took the life-preserving liquid, slowly sipping it, as if it would disappear and never return. He needed it. His body craved it. The water he lost would never be replaced from his body, he took all he could get. It ran down his throat like water putting out a fighting fire. He felt the flutter of her skirt against his arm as she walked past him, sitting down a few steps away from him. Her hair fluttered in the almost non existent breeze. Her shirt hung on her body. She was so tiny. Her hands were barely twigs, the muscles and bones protruding through her skin. Her eyes were bloodshot, her skin pale as the white on her blouse.   
  
She stood up, refusing to let her mind lose the battle with her body. Her steps were slow and precise. Her walk was different, stepping on her toes, as if testing the ground for imperfections. He never paid much attention to her walk. He never thought he needed to. He never noticed the way she always pulled her arms in front of her chest, creating a barrier. She was secluded, by choice. He placed the cup on the stairs. He would take it in on his way back. His feet groaned as he stood, but he walked after her. She walked slow, oblivious to the outside world. He saw storm clouds in the distance. Any rain would be nice.   
  
He walked in step with her, every movement of hers he mimicked until he was behind her. He could see her hands shaking. Her eyes were closed as she stood in the midst of the wind. He stood watching her, feeling all her emotions. They raged through him: pain, frustration, anger, hurt, jealousy. Yet there was most prevalent: peace. She was at peace. He couldn't understand why. She was a complex, unknown, indiscernible person with so many layers built upon herself he could never get through all of them to understand who she was. He took a step closer to her.   
  
His hand reflexively reached and rested on her hip. She jumped slightly, until she turned and stared at him as if he was a stranger, an unknown creature who dared to disrupt her beauty. He was infecting her with a disease through his touch, and the longer he kept his hand upon her skin, the more of the poison was absorbed. She didn't flinch, barely moved. He felt nothing under his hand except for her moist skin and bone. There was no muscle, no protection, simply the hard cartilage every body had. She was a living, breathing, walking skeleton and nothing more.   
  
Her body shifted, he looked into her eyes. He could see her screaming out for something. He didn't know what she wanted. He only did what he knew he should have done every night. He pulled her into his arms. Her head rested on the same spot on his chest, his hands wrapped around the same place they always did. It was a reflex, a magnet pulling his hands upon the resting point. He watched her, her eyes were closed, her breathing fast and forced. He saw a sliver of a tear peek out from under her eyelids. He pulled her closer to him, the tears he had longed to see he was finally seeing. The warm drop fell upon his skin. It physically burned him. He could see the scar forming. The red slash a reminder of their pain. His hands ran up and down her back, yet the only thing he could feel was her spine, sticking out and stabbing him with every run up or down. She was as fragile as a porcelain doll, a figure made entirely out of glass.   
  
He locked her gaze, her brown eyes pulling him deeper and deeper into the relentless quicksand. He could see his past, present, and future in her. He could feel all the pain coming back into his heart. The nights he spent wondering if he would ever be happy, if life would be kind to him. He wished for an angel. Some guiding light to help him. He never once thought of her. He forgot her best he could. She was a stain upon his once perfect life. And suddenly she just became the world and everything in it.   
  
His head moved closer to hers, their eyes interlocked, never letting go. He could almost feel it, the electricity, the magic, the spark. It was always there, as good as the first time, only getting better with time. He felt his lips meet hers. His lips were moist against her dry, wind-beaten and chapped ones. There was little movement. The world stood still around them. Suddenly everything she felt inside was transferred to him. His heart was pounding and he was left gasping for air. His body ached with the added burden. His hands were shaking, his mind going numb. He broke away. He was almost repealed by her, not being able to take it all in at once.  
  
He could feel her staring at him. The same questions were running through his mind. What fate brought us here? Why were we destined to hurt each other? The powers that control the world are never just, a simple fact every human learns. He held onto her with all the strength he had, yet it would never be enough. She closed her eyes. Her body began the struggle away from him. He held on physically now, his hands wrapped around her waist. She always ran. There was no changing that. He hoped to hold her there, have her tell him the truth.   
  
"Abby . . . Please . . . "  
  
She stopped. She held onto his arms, searching for the air that was not coming into her body. He helped her stand, searching for anything to make her breathe easier. Nothing was working. Finally she somehow grabbed her breath, the tears flowing down her eyes, holding on to her stomach with all the strength she had. He put his hand on her shoulder. She pushed him off.   
  
"You don't want me."  
  
He reached up, pushing the fluttering hair away from her eyes. She let him, then again moved away. The clouds that he had seen hours ago were above them. The wind had grown strong and fierce. The rain was threatening them, warning them of a painful encounter.   
  
"I'm sorry . . . "  
  
She stopped in her tracks, her eyes growing wider, her expression changing. She looked straight at him, her mouth began to form the words, but it was unsuccessful. She tried again.   
  
"I'm dying, John." 


End file.
